Triage
by morning sunlight
Summary: A teenaged Dean deals with the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong when Sam, John and Caleb all get hurt.


Triage

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Disclaimer: The Winchesters along with Caleb and Pastor Jim most definitely are not mine, I have returned them intact to Mr Kripke et al. 

Summary: A teenaged Dean deals with the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong. Hurt/comfort and angst within.

Author's Notes: So it was like this you see, I had been struggling to write and finish things that were worth reading for a little while, so I was talking to Rae Artemis, my ever patient beta and she said try some prompts. So next thing you know she sent me some prompts and I went away and wrote this, but it doesn't have a back story, the rest never got written no matter how hard I tried, no matter how often I came back to it. So I admit defeat and am accepting that this story is what it is supposed to be as it stands. Here's hoping you like it...

Oh and in case you were wondering... these were the prompts I used : Triage, Fear, Family, Pain

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**Triage**

Dean settled Sam down on the chair, trying not to think yet about what had happened or even what needed to happen next. As soon as his brother was seated, he turned back, heading back outside to help Caleb and his Dad into the room. "Don't think yet," he told himself again, "You don't need to think yet."

The older men were struggling from the car to the motel room and Caleb grunted out a thank you as Dean helped to take his father's weight on the other side. He didn't utter a word, frightened that if he said anything they would know what he was thinking. He helped Caleb lower his Dad onto the nearest of the beds, before helping the other man lower himself into a chair and then going back out to the car again to make sure he'd got all the first aid equipment they'd got, all the spares, everything because he was going to need it all before the night was through.

Away from the others, he pulled at his own t-shirt to see how bad the gash on his side was… not good, it would need stitches, but that was a luxury that was going to be a long time coming. In the meantime, he needed to slow the bleeding and make it less conspicuous and hopefully less of a hindrance. He looked down at the meager supplies and knew he was going to struggle to make them go round as it was, he couldn't afford to waste any on himself.

Looking back in the trunk he saw the duffle he and Sam used for clothes waiting to be washed. There was a t-shirt in there he knew, past its best, Sam had just about grown out of it completely, it was certainly too small to be really acceptable. If he used that now, then Dad would have to do a clothes run because Sam was growing out of everything again and the two of them were as good as sharing one set of clothes. It was only a few days ago that Dad had complained about Dean wanting to do the laundry again and Dean had tried to explain then that with Sam's latest growth spurt the two of them were running short, but Dad had been too wrapped up in his research for tonight's hunt to actually listen to anything Dean had to say.

Taking a deep breath, he chewed his lip as he placed the worn-out t-shirt over the gash in his side and tried to hold it still while he passed the tape round his waist to secure it. He rested his head against the cool metal of the raised trunk, trying to gather himself, steady himself, soothe himself before he started into the room.

He looked again at the supplies and cursed quietly, he'd told Dad they needed more, told him that if all three of them were going to hunt they needed a bigger kit, they needed to carry enough that he could deal with all of their injuries, not like before, not like when it was just him and Dad and that was just something else Dad had ignored and here they were, not two of them hurt, but four and a kit that wouldn't really service two. He dashed tears from his eyes, it wasn't supposed to be like this, he shouldn't have to make these decisions; it wasn't fair.

"Dean?" Caleb's voice came gruffly across the parking lot. Dean turned from the trunk to face the older man who was leaning heavily against the door jamb, hoping he was far enough away that Caleb wouldn't be able to see the tears. "Are you alright?" Dean nodded and hoped that Caleb would go back in and just give him this minute. "What are you doing, lad?"

Dean couldn't trust his voice to answer, so he just held up the first aid kit, hoping Caleb would recognize it. "Right, good lad. Here are the keys to my truck, there's another one under the driver's seat." He tossed a set of keys to Dean as he spoke. "Quick as you can manage, Dean," his voice was soft and reassuring. Dean's eyes came up to look at his face again and saw the older man nod encouragement in his direction. He lifted the last of the supplies from the trunk and closed the lid. As the lid went down, he saw Caleb turn to go back into the room, using the wall to help support him.

He dragged his sleeve across his eyes and hoped it would hide any evidence of tears from his face as he moved back to the room. He dropped the first aid supplies on the table and lifted the ice bucket up before heading back out of the room. He fetched ice and the second kit from Caleb's truck, momentary resentment at the fact that Caleb seemed to have a better kit than they did flashed through his mind before skittering away. Dean knew perfectly well that as far as Caleb was concerned the contents of the kit were there for Dean to use and it didn't matter which of them they were used on.

Resentment flared again, this time at his father, why couldn't he keep a decent first aid kit, like Caleb. Dean was fed up of arguing with him that he couldn't keep carrying on as if they never got injured hunting, because they did, no matter how careful they were. No matter how well planned, injuries still happened, supplies were still needed. He dragged a breath in, his lungs straining against the tape he had wrapped round his own injury. Shutting the truck door and locking it, he hurried back to the room.

He closed and locked the motel room door behind him, bracing himself for what had to come next. 'Triage' that was the correct term. He had to quickly examine and assess the injuries on the three people in the room and decide which needed to be dealt with the most urgently, which were the most life-threatening. How was he supposed to do that, he wondered.

He knew Dad had a head injury and was as good as out of it for now, he had various cuts and it looked like a lot of blood on his shirt. Caleb… he didn't know exactly what was wrong with Caleb but the man was clearly in pain and again there was plenty of blood lingering on his clothes. Sam… he looked so small in the chair, his head drooping forward. Family…friend… age… youth. Triage… Dad had always said it needed to be a dispassionate assessment of need, of prioritization. Dean's eyes flicked round and to his brother again.

Caleb's voice was there again on the periphery of Dean's awareness, "What are you going to do, Dean?" There was no anger, no irritation at how slow he was being. The voice was calming, reassuring.

"Triage," Dean barely whispered. "Determine the priority for medical action."

"That's right, lad. Can you manage?" Dean nodded and moved to drop to the floor in front of his brother so he could check the injuries, cataloguing them silently in his own mind before moving to his Dad's side. He had a list, it was hard to balance them, hard to prioritize, he didn't want to make choices like these; he didn't want to have to make choices like these with no one to make them for him.

He wanted to just fix Sam's injuries first; he didn't want them to be worse than his Dad's so he could justify it. He wanted Sam to be pain-free, injury-free, like every other fucking twelve-year-old in his school. He dropped his head again, fighting the roiling emotion in his head and stomach. Dragging another steadying breath, he pushed himself back to his feet so he could move to Caleb's side and assess his injuries.

As he dropped to Caleb's side, the older man rested a hand on his shoulder. "Stop Dean, tell me, what have you decided?"

"I need to see yours first."

"What have you decided, Dean?"

Dean knew he was barely holding it together, couldn't let Caleb see that. He swallowed desperately. Caleb's hand squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. "Ice… I should ice Dad's and see to Sam's." Dean knew that it was a close thing between the two. In a hospital, Sam's youth would move him up the priority list, but Dad's injuries looked more severe. But for Dean, objectivity was hard to come by.

For Sam's whole life, Dean had lived according to the words that had been etched into his heart, "Look out for your brother, Dean, keep him safe, that's your job." How was he supposed to be objective about it now? How was he supposed to put aside twelve years of prioritizing Sam's needs above all else in order to rank Sam's injuries against those of his Dad and Caleb?

"That's right." Caleb confirmed his decision without any implication of doubt. "Pass me the ice and a bag and towel and I'll do your Dad for the minute, you sort Sam. When you're done then you can take over with your Dad."

"You?"

"I can wait, Dean… Sam first, then your Dad. Just concentrate, one at a time, you can do it. Just think of Sam now… go."

Dean stood and after passing Caleb a plastic bag, towel and the ice, he helped the older man over to his father's side before turning his attention back to his younger brother. "Sammy, you with me, dude?" The younger boy's eyes lifted slowly to meet his brother's and Dean could see the pain in them. "It's okay, Sammy, I'm gonna fix this, I promise. I gotta get you into the bathroom though so I can clean you up. Can you help me move you in there or am I going to have to carry your heavy ass?"

Sam's lips quirked and he leant forward, lifting one hand and reaching for Dean's shoulder. A moan of pain escaped from Sam's lips as Dean gently hoisted him back up to standing and led him carefully into the bathroom, closing the door behind them.

He seated his brother on the closed toilet seat and began to lift the bedraggled t-shirt carefully. Sam moaned again, his head dropping forward to rest on Dean's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but I have to do this. I have to get your t-shirt off, so I can sort it. Please let me do this." He felt his brother nod against his shoulder just ahead of him lifting his head and trying to help remove the t-shirt. "I got it Sammy, I got it." Dean gently pulled the t-shirt over his head before peeling it away down his arms.

With the t-shirt off, Dean could see more clearly the extent of Sam's injuries. His front was bruised rather than cut. Exploring carefully, tentatively, Dean knew there was the possibility that he had cracked a rib. His back was the reverse, a patchwork of cuts and slashes from where Sam had traveled backwards through the window and landed in a pile of glass.

Dean filled the sink with warm water, put a cloth in to soak before he took hold of the tweezers and placing the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and the bottle of holy water to hand, he turned his brother so his back was illuminated more in the light then moved behind his brother and knelt to begin work. He carefully cleaned blood from a small area at a time, checking each wound for remnants of the glass before, moving on to the next area. Once he was sure there was no glass left, he wiped the whole of Sam's back again to remove as much of the slowly weeping blood as he could.

Sam had been lucky; kind of… the wounds were plentiful but not deep. "I'm nearly done, Sammy, you're doing great," Dean murmured soothingly to his brother. "All the glass is out, I just need to wash it down with the holy water and hydrogen peroxide then I'll cover it all up. You're doing well."

"Dean," the word was little more than a sob and Dean moved back round in front of his younger brother. Sam's head dropped onto his brother's shoulder, one hand clenching in Dean's t-shirt. Dean's hand came up to sift through his brother's hair, gentle and soothing for the younger boy, giving him time to gather his strength again. Leaving his brother's head resting against his chest, Dean reached carefully for the two bottles and began to clean Sam's back again, ignoring the awkwardness of the position and the strain it put on his own injury. He felt as Sam tensed against him again, a soft moan escaping his lips and tried to steel himself to continue. "Sorry…" Sam's voice murmured just below his ear.

"I'm nearly done, I promise, Sam, just a little more." He waited for his brother to nod before he continued. When he'd finished, he gently supported his brother for a moment or two before reaching for the bandages to cover up the injuries. "I'll do them tight, Sam. You might have hurt your ribs, if I do it tight, it'll help with that. Dad or Caleb can check tomorrow, but I… I… it's the best I can do."

"Thank you, Dean." The words were like a balm to Dean's nerves. He'd done the best he could; Sam knew that, he'd tried as hard as he could. Dad wouldn't let him take Sam to the hospital, no one else was in a fit state to help, Dean had done all he knew how, even though he knew Sam deserved better. Sam knew though, Sam knew that Dean had done the best he could and Dean could breathe again.

With Sam sorted, Dean left him to sit for a few minutes alone whilst he went back into the main room. He moved across to the pull-out couch that Sam and he had been sharing for the last few days and began to pull it out and make up the bed. The two older men had had the two beds whilst Dean and Sam had shared the couch. What Sam needed now was rest, so Dean was getting everything ready so that he could have that.

"Everything okay in there, Dean?" Caleb's voice was still calm, trusting.

Dean nodded, before elaborating, "Bruises on his front, cuts from the glass on his back. I've got the glass out, and cleaned it. I've wrapped the bandages tight in case… tomorrow one of you'll need to check, but he'll be alright for now."

"Well done lad. Are the two of you going to be alright sharing the pull-out or do you want to take my bed?"

"We'll be fine." Dean could feel the emotions pulling at him again, trying to escape.

"Okay. You alright to get Sam settled then work on your Dad?" This time all Dean could do was nod.

After helping Sam to the pull-out, Dean went to fetch him painkillers before he helped him settle comfortably before trying to sleep. He sneaked two for himself, only to startle and almost choke as Caleb spoke again, "Can you keep going, Dean? Can you do this? Do you need me to help you first?" He shook his head, not meeting Caleb's gaze as he pushed himself up and to his father's side.

With the other man's help, he raised his father enough to remove his shirt. Bruising a-plenty, but just one deep tear. Again he checked over for the signs of broken ribs, again unsure. He'd done it time and again on his Dad's instruction, but never like this… alone and he'd never felt an actual broken rib to be sure of what it would feel like.

"Are any broken?" Caleb's voice broke through his thoughts. Dean shrugged, unwilling to voice his doubts. Dad would be disappointed in him, he'd been over it before, but Dean just wasn't sure he was doing it right. He sensed Caleb's proximity behind. "Check again, I'll look over your shoulder while you do, okay?"

He nodded as he moved back to start the check again. As he finished the second check, he felt Caleb's hand grip his shoulder, "You're doing fine." The grip released but not before Dean had felt the shiver of pain that had passed through Caleb. He looked up and back over his shoulder in time to see the grimace on Caleb's features, schooled quickly to hide it again, but Dean knew Caleb needed him to help.

Opening his eyes again as the pain passed, Caleb saw the look in Dean's eyes that spoke of anxiety. Keeping his voice calm, unhurried, Caleb said, "It's fine. It can wait until you've finished there. Can you manage the stitches?" Dean nodded, silent again, but his eyes still spoke of fear. "I'll be fine until you've finished up there, Dean. You're doing well."

Dean fetched water, a clean cloth, and everything he'd need to clean, stitch and cover the wound on his Dad's side before kneeling back beside the bed and starting work.

Caleb watched him work, struggling to keep his eyes open against the draw of oblivion even though he hadn't taken painkillers yet, not wanting to leave the boy alone to deal with this. Unable to help with the actual care, all he could do was offer support and Dean needed that. Caleb could see in his eyes the pain and fear for his family and knowing that he'd taken painkillers between treating Sam and starting work on his Dad was a clear sign that he'd been injured, that in all likelihood some of the blood staining his shirt was his own and not just that of his brother or father where he'd dragged them to safety, before helping Caleb finish the poltergeist in the house.

Caleb watched as Dean placed a neat and careful set of stitches across the wound in his father's side. There were medics in hospitals who couldn't do a set so good. No sixteen year old should be that good at it, that experienced. "You're doing fine, Dean," he murmured again.

"Can you help me?" The boy's voice was quiet. "Hold him up while I wrap his ribs."

"Just cover the wound, Dean. His ribs are sore but they're fine, not broken. You checked them. Just cover it over, change the ice on that bump on his head and you're done for now."

"But…"

"You're done, Dean." The boy was going to find out soon enough, exactly what a broken rib felt like and Caleb knew his own strength was waning fast, the pressing of the bone too much of a struggle to fight against and he didn't know how much longer Dean would last, looking at the pallor of Dean's complexion. Yeah, he knew his own injury was worse than John's but no sixteen year old should be making triage decisions, no sixteen year old should be assessing his own family's injuries against an outsider's, no sixteen year old should be left to treat them all alone… it shouldn't be like that in an ideal world, but their world was far from ideal and that was the position Dean was in and so Caleb had taken himself out of the equation and then supported Dean in whatever decision he made.

Caleb was impressed by how well Dean managed, but he knew the boy well enough to know he was shutting down, isolating off from what he was doing. It was fine… for now, to get through this but Caleb knew from past experience that when Dean shut down and closed off, it took time for him to come back afterwards, sometimes days, sometimes weeks and this time… with his brother injured, Caleb dreaded to think how far Dean would go within himself before they could help him find his way back.

Caleb had heard Dean say Sam shouldn't go with them and he'd heard John's words, saying it was time to stop coddling Sam. Away from the boys, Caleb had backed up Dean's words, but John had been as stubborn as ever, pointing out that Dean had been younger when he'd been on his first poltergeist hunt. Caleb had tried reminding him of how injured Dean had been on that occasion, but it hadn't helped.

Dean moved through to the bathroom again, coming back to the side of Caleb's bed with clean water, cloth and the last of the supplies. "I'm sorry…" the boy's voice was barely audible.

"You're doing fine. I've only got a couple of cuts for you to clean and cover but I need you to bind my ribs real tight okay?"

"… too slow…" he murmured.

"No Dean, you've done fine. Just a little bit more and you'll be done, okay?" Dean nodded and moved to help Caleb remove his t-shirt. The bruising was already livid where Caleb had been hit by the chest of drawers.

"Broken?" Dean said quietly.

"'Fraid so. Go gentle 'cos they hurt but feel it, then you'll know for sure what it feels like for next time, what you're actually trying to find."

The boy's eyes were awash with tears as he finished cleaning and covering the cuts and bound Caleb's ribs. "I got it wrong…" he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing wrong, Dean."

"Your ribs… I should have bound them earlier, I shouldn't have got you to help me with Dad… it's too bad…"

"No Dean. I made those decisions not you. You did everything you should; you've done right by all three of us."

A few tears slipped out and down his cheeks as he murmured, "I hate this Caleb. I hate it." Caleb lifted his hand to the boy's head in reassurance, cupping his cheek and wiping away some of the moisture. "I… I never wanted Sammy to get hurt… I don't know how to tell Dad… I can't keep doing this… can't keep watching them get hurt."

"You've been so brave, Dean. You've done them proud. It's time to rest now. Are you going to be alright in with Sammy?" Dean nodded and wiped the last of the tears away, pushing himself up to standing again. Caleb saw clearly the pain in his features, the pain that was more than the painkillers he'd taken could really deal with. "Can I do anything?" Caleb asked, knowing that if Dean needed stitches his hands were too unsteady to place them, his own strength too far gone to be able to place tight bandaging for damaged bones.

"Just stiff from kneeling." Caleb recognized it for a lie.

"Get ready for bed, Dean and rest for a while." Caleb watched as the boy moved carefully, gingerly laying himself down beside his brother, one hand coming up to rest in his brother's hair, reassurance for both of them. He saw as Sam relaxed further into sleep, further away from the pain of his injuries.

Dean might hate it, but he had a healer's touch, Caleb knew that. Fingers that were gentle but firm, that worked surely even though their owner's mind lacked confidence in their ability. He was thorough, careful and far too well-trained for a boy his age. Caleb saw him slip into sleep, bolstered by another painkiller that Caleb had assured him it would be alright to take just this once.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and called Jim. "Jim… sorry… need your help, old friend… yeah the poltergeist is gone, Dean helped me after John and Sammy were hurt. I need you to come and help me though, the boy is hurt and I'm not up to fixing him up and I can't ask him to drive up to yours, he's done too much already, more than he should."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The others were all still out of it, when Caleb heard the light rap of the Pastor at the door. Pushing himself up with a groan, he went to the door to let him in. As Jim entered, Caleb closed and locked the door again, grateful for the support Jim offered for him to return to his own bed.

"So what happened?" Jim asked. Caleb outlined the throw-down with the poltergeist and the resulting injuries, Sam's bruising from being hit with various flying objects before he'd been propelled backwards through the window, John's nasty lump on the head and the slash along his side from the ceremonial dagger that had been hanging on the wall, his own up-close-and-personal encounter with a chest of drawers before admitting that he'd seen Dean hit by the grandfather clock but he wasn't sure what had caused the gash on his side that was seeping blood now.

"I let him take three painkillers, so he's pretty much knocked out for now and I got a look at the bruising and it looks pretty bad, I don't know if his ribs are okay but he's covered some sort of gash with a t-shirt and tape, my hands weren't steady enough to start checking it but it's still seeping blood slowly."

Jim nodded, quietly lifting the first aid supplies he'd brought with him over to Dean's side. Settling himself beside the boy, he ran his fingers through the close cropped hair, as he leant in to wake the boy enough to let him know what was happening. "Dean… Dean…" The boy stirred, eyes fluttering open a moment before the awareness of pain was back. "Easy there, it's just me, Jim. I'm going to just look at this on your side okay?"

"Pastor Jim?"

"Yes Dean, that's right it's just me. I'm just going to look at your side, try and fix it up a little."

"Can wait… Caleb needs you first, his ribs were bad…"

"Caleb's fine, I've already spoken to him, I need to check you over though." The Pastor carefully cut away the tape before lifting the wadded t-shirt away from the injury below. The Pastor sucked a harsh breath in as he saw the damage, a ragged angry gash.

Dean whimpered as the t-shirt pulled on the dried blood round the wound, even though more blood was still seeping slowly out. The Pastor's voice stayed calm and reassuring, "I've got it, Dean, it'll be sorted soon and then you can rest easier."

Pulling the sides apart to check the wound was clean, he saw the remains of a piece of glass still inside. Grimacing, he managed to get it out and the wound cleaned and stitched, aware of the boy's growing temperature alongside his discomfort. Once he'd finished, he laid a cool cloth on the boy's head and tried to soothe him back to sleep.

It didn't take long for him to drift back to sleep, albeit a restless one. The Pastor stood and moved to take a seat, looking back at Caleb seeing the other man awake again. "How is he?"

"It's clean now and it seems like just bruising on his chest. So how come everyone was fixed up but him?"

"He did it. Sam, then John, then me, it was all I could do to stay awake and offer support. He's upset though, Jim and I don't blame him. Upset that Sam got hurt, that he isn't good enough to take care of everyone. He wants out, but he isn't going to go, not without Sam and John isn't going to listen, doesn't listen to anything the boy says."

"What do you mean?"

"In the last few days, I've heard Dean; he's a good lad, a sensible head. He talks sense, more sense than his Dad half the time, but John doesn't listen to him, tells him he's a child and he doesn't know what he's talking about. Dean didn't want Sam to come on the hunt; John shot him down on that one. He's told him they need a bigger first aid kit, a better one, John's answer was that if the boys are careful and follow the plans they don't need to waste money on more medical supplies… well you can see which of them was right… thank god for my kit. He's told John that Sam's grown out of his clothes and John's answer was just to say that he needed to take more care of his belongings."

"What would you know about bringing up boys?" John's voice was a surprise to both men, although the anger in it wasn't. "It's not like you've got sons to consider in the fight is it?"

"No," Caleb kept his voice calm and anger free. "John… your boys don't deserve this… you should put them first, keep them safe…"

"Oh and pretending nothing is out there is going to keep them safe. It didn't keep Mary safe."

"There is a difference John, between taking precautions against what is out there, protecting your family from it and actually going out looking for danger. There was no reason for your boys to be in that house tonight, no reason for either of them to be hurt now."

"Can't ignore the reality, whether you want to or not."

"Caleb, John, hush, or you'll wake the boys. Now is not the time. John, the boys need time to rest and heal as do you and Caleb. You won't all fit in my car, so how about I take the boys with me tomorrow back to mine. You and Caleb have a bed each here to rest in until you're well enough to drive the cars back. We'll all gather at mine in a few days."

"The boys are fine, they can stay here."

"John, look at them. Look at them properly, Dean is almost a full-grown man and Sammy is growing taller by the day, they're squashed onto that pull-out and both of them have injuries that will heal better if they're not getting accidentally poked by a bedmate. It's a couple of days that's all. I'll keep them safe."

"I know you will, but there's to be no talk of not hunting with them."

"I won't bring the matter up."

"But if they do, you'll talk about it."

"I won't instigate the conversation, I can't say fairer than that John. But your boys need a proper bed and clean sheets each… not some ratty flea-infested thing between them, so what's it to be?"

"They'll go with you in the morning, okay?"

"Fine, I'll fetch you two some supplies before I leave, so you're set up for a couple of days' rest, after that you should be okay to move around on your own and we'll see you as soon as you're up to the drive."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

It was two weeks before John finally decided that they would leave the Pastor's, certain that both boys had recovered and were fine. Dean was still quiet, only speaking in response to direct questions, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere.

The final morning came and the Pastor rose early to make breakfast to be sure of sending his visitors on their way with one final good meal inside them. Making it down to the kitchen he glanced out of the window, surprised to see Dean already sitting outside on the porch steps, his fingers gently teasing the spot between the ears of Jim's dog, who was relishing the attention. Jim stopped into his study to collect a bag before slipping out through the door and settling himself beside Dean on the steps.

The dog looked up at him, but made no attempt to move from its position with its head in Dean's lap. Jim was pleased, on some level the dog seemed to recognize Dean's need for contact and affection, a need the boy could not express to his family.

Unconditional love, Dean gave it without thought, particularly to his father and brother but in fact to others as well. It had taken a lot of convincing before Dean had relinquished blame for not treating Caleb sooner and even then he had finally admitted to the Pastor how torn he was by the emotions that had run through him at having to decide who to treat first, how he'd wanted to just see to Sam and not even consider anyone else until Sam was okay. The Pastor had taken the time to reassure him, backed up by Caleb, tried to convince him of the pride they had in him. They'd explained how whenever possible in hospitals, medics were not required to act if a family member was injured and triage at the least was carried out by someone else. He'd not had that luxury, nor the luxury of being unharmed himself. He had done more than could be expected of anyone.

"Dean, how are you this morning? All packed already?"

"Yeah…"

"Can I join you?" The Pastor sat down even as he asked the question. "Are you ready for this?" He watched as the boy shrugged. "You can talk to me you know."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me what's troubling you. Let me see if I can help. You lock it all up inside and it eats away at you."

The boy's head dropped, eyes fixed on a spot on the ground, his fingers stilling on the dog's head. He drew a ragged breath and then looked away into the distance, away from the man beside him. The dog turned its head, licking the now still hand, demanding attention and when it didn't come, the dog pushed its way further forward burrowing into Dean until he was forced to look back at it and resume his stroking.

"Something's still upsetting you."

"Nothing changes. Talking… what's the point?"

"Letting people know what the problem is sometimes helps resolve the issue."

"Only if someone is listening." There was a thin line of resentment in his reply.

"I'm listening now."

Dean's eyes turned wide and pain-filled to face the Pastor as he said, "But it's not you who needs to hear."

"Tell me anyway, Dean."

"I can't keep Sammy safe, not on hunts like that one. It's what I'm supposed to do, keep Sammy safe, look out for Sammy… I can't even keep him in clothes and… and… I didn't have enough in the first aid kit to help them all… how am I supposed to do it? He doesn't listen to me… not ever… he doesn't listen." Dean turned away again, his voice catching on his words.

The Pastor moved closer, close enough to rest his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You do a good job at protecting Sammy and you'll keep doing it the best you can, that's all anyone can ever do. As for the first aid kit, I have this for you," he said as he passed over the bag he had brought out with him. "It's yours, to be put in your duffle bag." He watched as the boy drew out the box inside, opening it to see the first aid supplies inside. "It's not your Dad's… your Dad has to keep his stocked, you keep yours stocked and if you can't afford replacements, let me or Caleb know we'll help. This is yours, Dean and until you need to use it, no one need know you've got it. It's from Caleb and me because we are proud and thankful for how well you coped that night."

"I… I can't take this."

"No? It would be a shame for it to go to waste staying here and then for you to need it sometime and not have it."

"But… it's expensive…"

"No, Dean, what's too expensive is risking the lives of people you love for the sake of not accepting a small gift. Caleb wanted to say thank you for looking out for him and I wanted you to know how much I appreciate the care you take in looking out for people who are important to me, Caleb, Sammy and your Dad. There's one you could look out for a bit more though please." The boy's eyes looked up uncertain into the Pastor's warm gaze. "You, Dean. I want you to take care of you too."

The eyes dropped again, embarrassed by the attention. "You'll take it with you then?" the Pastor persisted.

"Thank you," was the murmured reply.

"I'll have a word with your Dad about clothes for Sammy; see if I can't convince him to get it sorted and some for you too, yours are looking a bit too ragged as well."

"They're fine; Sam's don't even fit him anymore. He's grown too tall."

"Dean, listen to me. I know your Dad doesn't listen to you and he should, believe me he should, because you know what you're talking about. But don't stop talking because he doesn't listen. Talk to him and if it doesn't work, talk to me, talk to Caleb and we'll help, we'll try and make him see. You're not on your own."

"Thank you." Dean began to stand. He walked with the Pastor back into the house. "I'll go and finish my packing," he said, running his fingers lightly across the box as if still unsure that this gift was really his.

"You do that. You have a gift, Dean, a healer's touch. You may not like it or want it or even feel confident in it, but your hands work wonders. Your dad, Sammy and Caleb, they were all lucky that you took care of them, that you eased their pain as you cared for their injuries. The skill in treating those injuries would take years to master for most people and you completed them without all the benefits of a hospital environment. It's a special skill to have."

The boy's head dropped again, this time to cover the flush of embarrassment. "Finish your packing, and hurry your brother down in time for some breakfast."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The Pastor watched as the Winchesters drove away. He had elicited two promises from John. The first that he would take the boys shopping to get them clothes that fit and the second that he would listen to Dean and consider the points the boy said rationally and give him an explanation when his words weren't able to be acted upon. He hoped that he had convinced Dean that he only had to call for help if he needed it and from Sam, he had got an enthusiastic agreement that he would look out for his brother and help him to keep them both safe. There was only one of those that he was absolutely certain would be acted on and that was Sam's. As far as the other two were concerned, he would have to hope and pray.

'Triage' Caleb had told him how Dean had used the word, "Determine the priority for medical action". Jim had retrieved his copy of the American Heritage Dictionary from his study and shown Dean one of the other meanings of the word, "A process in which things are ranked in terms of importance or priority". He had then talked to Dean about what the one job was that he had every day, every where, at all times without fail since Sam had been born.

"Keep Sammy safe," the boy had whispered.

"And that is what you did," the Pastor had affirmed. "You did the thing which you have to do all day everyday, no matter where or why, you did that first, just as you were supposed to. You did the right thing, Dean." Only time would tell whether Dean understood how well he did that.


End file.
